


Of Hangover, Monsters and Bets

by Kru



Series: of witchers and bards [7]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Attempt at Humor, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Confessions, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Family Dynamics, Friends to Lovers, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier is a ball of fluff and mischief, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, but he is also a little sneaky shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27122558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kru/pseuds/Kru
Summary: Did he send Jaskier to the kitchen first? Yes. Did he count on the fact that they would go easy on the bard? Absolutely.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: of witchers and bards [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626238
Comments: 40
Kudos: 544





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I heard that Keeping with the Kardashians ended so I am giving you Breakfast with the Witchers :D
> 
> This story is quite thighly connected to (1) ["Three words. Eight letters."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754895/chapters/57053902) and (2) ["This Moment"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24187444/chapters/58258408) so you might want to read these first ;)
> 
> Beta done by wonderful [locktea](https://locktea.tumblr.com/)

He stops a few steps from the entrance to the kitchen and starts to listen in. The voices of four men are distinctive over the usual din of a morning in the keep, but the voices don’t suggest any kind of drama. They all seem to sound pretty normal. As always, Coën communicates with grunts at these early hours of the morning, understandable after so many shots of the hootch last night. Eskel just throws around small remarks while Lambert jabbers nonsense, bragging to Jaskier about the fish he caught a few days ago. The poet stays relatively quiet, eating probably. Food being one of the only things that shuts him up for at least a few minutes.

Did he send Jaskier to the kitchen first? Yes. Did he count on the fact that they would go easy on the bard? Absolutely. It doesn’t mean he’s a coward. Well, maybe a little. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to fully acknowledge that, between the two of them, Jaskier is the braver one. Of course he is, when it comes to expressing his feelings and dealing with emotions. But in other ways? Not so much. And yes, Geralt will learn how to open up and how to communicate more of his thoughts, but they agreed that he’s going to take one step at a time. Yesterday’s confession together with today’s morning sharing session had used up his deposits of openness to its limit. Telling everyone in the keep about what’s going on between the two of them seems like a huge step now, and he’d rather pass until he’s recharged a bit more. Preferably in bed. With Jaskier. That’s why they decided the poet would go down first, prep the ground, assess the atmosphere, and when Geralt enters the room, he’ll warn him in any possible way.

The fact that this plan seems to be going pretty well is strange. All the things he worried about, all the distasteful remarks, teasing or making fun aren’t present, and it makes Geralt even more unsettled because it all seems too easy. But he also knows there is only one way to find out if his brother in arms have let them off the hook and gotten over the revelations from the night before, or rather, the unusual manner of how it had been served to them – in the form of Jaskier’s incredibly loud moans of pleasure that surely reached witchers’ sensitive ears.

To hell with it, the witcher thinks as he pushes the door to the kitchen and walks in slowly. He suspects that all eyes will turn on him, but nothing happens. Apart from Jaskier who stops halfway through spreading generous portions of lard on the bread, and greets him with a bright smile. The rest barely spear the witcher a nod. Coën mulls over something that smells like peppermint brew, Eskiel stuffs his mouth with porridge and Lambert doesn’t even stop talking.

“Is there anything left?” Geralt risks a question, walking to the hearth and looking inside the cauldron.

“There should be some porridge left,” Eskiel says, quickly looking at him and turning to Lambert on his right side, “Man, could you just stop shouting? I feel like I have a nest of kikimores in my head.”

“Really? I feel perfect,” Jaskier cuts in and shrugs, biting into the bread with an obscene murmur of pleasure.

Geralt looks at them for a moment, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there is not even the slightest sign of the first one. They all act pretty normal for a hangover morning.

Stunned, he takes the bowl and scrapes up the rest of the oats. Fortunately, there is still some food on the table. It’s not a great variety. Their pantry consists mostly of things that they could buy from travelling merchants on their way here, and that won’t go bad easily. Things like dry meat or fish, all sorts of grains, cheese and pickles. It’s complemented by the stuff the land around Kaer Morhen provides like eggs and venison, but that’s mostly served for dinner and he’s not sure Vesemir has come back from his hunting trip yet. Still, after a severe winter as the one that just passed, a winter during which he and Jaskier were taking advantage of all sorts of comforts the Cidarian court provided, he tries not to complain too much.

He sits next to Jaskier who is completely occupied by the fresh bread and lard, now licking his fingers in a borderline obscene manner. He knows Geralt’s watching, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t make an effort like that if there wasn’t a hidden agenda somewhere in his motives. It isn’t one of their agreed warnings, just one of Jaskier’s strange attempts at public flirtation that makes him appear more stupidly adorable than desirable, so the witcher tries to stay calm. He just needs to survive this breakfast without an incident. After that, they’ll be truly off the hook. Mostly. Even Vesemir may never learn how and with whom Geralt spends his nights or shares his life.

That’s why he turns to his bowl and focuses on adding honey, nuts and dry wild berries into his porridge. He turns his eyes from Jaskier, pretending that he isn’t aware of him at the border of his senses. Pretending he doesn’t catch how the poet puts his long, strong fingers in his mouth to lick them clean one by one. Or how he murmurs with pleasure so similarly to what he did just a few minutes ago with Geralt, licking him clean, moaning his name while he finished himself off. Or how he still smells like both of them, like sex and like all the happiness that clearly resonates off of the poet’s body. Ok, so maybe Geralt should try pretending harder...

Geralt closes his eyes and tries to count to ten, being happy that at least he doesn’t blush, when suddenly someone claps him hard on the back.

“Hangover’s a killer, huh?” Lambert asks, sitting on his right on the long bench.

Geralt only hums a vague agreement and starts to eat, adding “I’m still tired from the road.”

“If the road gets you tired it means you’re getting old,” Coën murmurs from under his cup and looks at Geralt with his bloodshot eyes.

“I heard that if you have dreadful hangovers, and I can clearly see you do suffer immensely today, it also means your glory days are over,” Jaskier proposes, smiling at the suffering witcher brightly. “Apparently that saying also counts even when you have an inhumanly fast metabolism.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Coën grinds through his clenched teeth and quickly glances at Geralt.

“And you?” Lambert notices, “Jasker, you aren’t the fountain of youth yourself.”

“Oh, I feel wonderful, thank you for asking,” the bard says lightly, and adds with a cunning smile, “And I slept like a baby.”

“Really?” asks Eskel from the other side of the table, “Didn’t you hear all the noises?”

“Noises?” Jaskier wonders aloud and quickly answers, “No.”

Geralt holds his head up from the bowl and starts to look between Eskel and the bard. The smile on his friend’s lips is harmless, when he adds:

“I think it might be a Wyvern.”

“A Wyvern?” Lambert snorts, pointing with his spoon, “Fuck me sideways if that was a Wyvern. It wasn’t even a draconid.”

“Then what?” Eskel doesn’t want to give up. “Maybe a banshee, but I haven’t heard of one this close to the keep in years, and it’s not Saovine.”

“A banshee?” Jaskier picks up, “Geralt, you never told me about those ones.”

The witcher slowly looks around the table. Eskel still smiles politely, waiting on his answer while Lambert loudly takes a sip of his ale as he’s a strong believer in healing hangovers with what got him into that state in the first place. Coën just gives him another annoyed glare and goes back to contemplating the mint leaves dancing on the surface of his tea. Geralt starts to suspect that none of this is innocent or accidental. They have a plan. They must have a plan. They’re just waiting for the right moment to attack. After all, they had all been taught by the same man, and Vesemir always told him to wait for the enemy to expose their weakest spot. And he isn’t going to give them that.

“They are mostly harmless specters, who don’t attack humans,” Geralt finally explains and looking at Eskel he says firmly, “People believe that their scream means the death of the one who heard it.”

“But only on Saovine,” his friend points out with a smile, “So, I doubt it was a Banshee.”

“Maybe it was just a wild boar,” Lambert throws in, shrugging as he puts the cup to his lips. “Got caught in snares or something,” he adds and then claps Geralt on the back again.

“How did it sound?” Jaskier asks innocently before the witcher is even able to stop him.

“Like someone was being fucked by a pack of wolves,” Coën murmurs, clearly unhappy.

The poet snorts, and starts to say, “That’s hardly possible,” when Geralt cuts in.

“That’s enough,” he says decidedly, and shakes Lambert’s hand off his arm when he pats him once again as he demands, “You can have your fun and insults when it comes to me, but leave Jaskier out of it.”

“Me?” the bard looks between them, adding, “What do I have to do with this?”

“They clearly mean the sounds you have been making while we fucked last night,” Geralt presses through his clenched teeth.

He’s annoyed that his lover, the person who claims that he graduated Oxenfurt Academy summa cum laude, still doesn’t get what their so-called friends are clearly trying to insinuate.

And then, Eskel suddenly shouts, “Finally!”

“And not only at night,” Coën adds sharply. “Seriously, Geralt, you could at least have given us a break in the morning.”

“That one was actually all my doing,” Jaskier explains, sounding not even one bit apologetic when he adds, “So indemnifications are in order, but you still have to pay up.”

“What?” Geralt snaps, “Pay for what?”

“We made a bet this morning, before you came downstairs,” Lamber says with a nasty smile. “The little shit here said that you’d only break when we started to insult him, not you. He was right.”

“I was. I always am,” the poet says proudly, smiling even brighter as he adds, “And you need to admit aloud that these days I know Geralt profoundly.”

“In and out,” Lamber confirms and throws a few coins on the table in the bard’s direction.

“From what we heard,” Coën sums up and adds his money.

Eskel only makes an attempt at hiding his smile behind his mug, and adds his part of the reward to the table. Geralt slowly scrutinizes them, still not knowing how he feels about it or whether to treat this as a pretty decent solution to a problem he has been mulling over in his head for months.

“How long have you known?” He asks instead.

“The minute you rode in through the gate,” Coën answers first. “We might not have your sense of smell, White Wolf, but you two reek of sex, and there is no decent person to fuck in a hundred-mile radius of Kear Morhen.”

“Besides, your scents are mixed,” Eskel elaborates. “At this point there is no way to tell them apart. I admire your stamina by the way, Geralt. At your age…”

“Hey,” Geralt reacts instantly, throwing a nut in his friend's direction. “We’re the same age.”

“You are?” Jaskier says surprised. “I would have never guessed. It must be the hair.”

Eskel laugh out loud this time, holding his hands up in a mock surrender, so Geralt asks instead:

“Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“We wanted to see you suffer,” Lambert proposes and explains with a grin, “Not all of us have as much luck as to, not only bone two damn fine sorceresses, but also the most famous bard on the whole Continent.”

“I’m not sure if you could call it luck,” Coën murmurs.

This time it’s Jaskier who throws breadcrumbs at the other witcher, hissing, “It’s an immense privilege.”

“But mostly we didn’t want to force you to tell us,” Eskel explains. “After all, that’s between you two. And we get why you wouldn’t want to advertise it.”

“Until I wanted to get some money for a new case for my lute,” the poet points out, neatly packing every coin into a hidden pocket in his trousers.

“Which I’m sure he wouldn’t mind after a steamy night like that,” Lambert says and claps Geralt once again on the back, making the witcher flinch.

“Lambert, you might be my friend,” Geralt murmurs, “But I swear to Melitele that if you do that again, I’ll serve you to Old Speartip.”

“And why on earth do you want to wake that old son of a bitch,” a sudden voice resonates in the kitchen, stating more than asking.

They all turn to see Vesemir, who throws a reasonably large stag onto the floor. Geralt freezes on the spot, and with a short and sharp nod, lets Jaskier know that this time he should stay silent. After all, the reaction of this one man means everything to him.

“What is going on here?” Vesemir finally asks, vexed by the silence. “Did someone die?”

“Nah,” as always Lambert’s the first one to answer and he says before anyone can stop him, “We just learned that Geralt does the deed with Jaskier.”

All the rest of the witchers hold their breath but Vesemir only snorts and, with a dramatic roll of his eyes, he huffs out quietly, “Finally,” causing a sudden burst of laughter.

“Now, can someone help me with this beauty?” He adds and the witchers stand up, rushing to take care of their potential provision for next days.

“I love when everything goes to my plan,” whispers Jaskier who appears on Geralt’s side where he stands a little bit further away from the others.

The witcher only turns his doubting gaze on him, arching his eyebrow in an unspoken question.

The poet huffs out a tired sigh and starts to reckon patiently, “In the course of just one whole day I managed to make you agree to share a room in here with me, confess your feelings, tell me about your past a little, finally admit the truth about us to your friends and on top of that I earned some coin. Let alone having three magnificent orgasms,” he adds and shrugs, smiling at the witcher unapologetically.

“You’re sleeping in the kitchen tonight,” Geralt suddenly decides and moves to help the rest, ignoring the bard when he shouts after him:

“Geralt, come on! What about the orgasms!?”


	2. Crossing paths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm imagining that this is the ballad Jaskier had been working on when he arrived at Kaer Morhen ;)

Maybe before

my eyes were closed.

And maybe before

I wasn’t able to love.

Wandering this world

vast and lonely.

Without a care.

Without a thought.

Not knowing what I miss.

Not wanting anything at all.

Crossing paths

and trying to leave you behind.

But then you said

maybe before I knew

my eyes should be closed.

And maybe before I knew

I shouldn’t be able to love.

Wandering this world

scary and empty.

Without a care.

Without a thought.

Knowing exactly what I miss.

Knowing what I want.

Crossing paths

and trying to leave you behind.

And I want to open my eyes.

And I want to open my heart.

To let you in.

To give it to you.

Crossing paths

and never let you go.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original post [here](https://leeeeeex.tumblr.com/post/632532708869996544/the-witcher-appreciation-week-day-three)


End file.
